Daring to Dream, Daring to Become

"Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it." --Goethe

As a little girl, I would routinely close the sliding doors away from the outside world of parents and my sister, put on some music, and dance. I would move my body with dramatic leaps, large arm swings, soft gestures, clumsy turns. These movements were performed for myself, with great theatrical boldness. These ritualized living room dances became so important for me growing up because of the amazing shift in mood I experienced. Movement's effects were powerful to me. I always, always felt better dancing. The simple act of moving my body gave me great power. I felt in control, confident, joyful, even giddy with excitement at times. On a fundamental level, it was with movement that I found I could make sense of my world, and movement and dance became my outlet when I had no words to describe my emotions. It was as if I had an unconscious hunger for emotional expression. Dance helped me express my humanness and cope with my ineffability. As a little girl, dance became my therapy.


I was an awkward little girl with dark hair, freckles, and goofy teeth. My father is Jewish, so my family celebrated Hanukkah and Passover. My mom is Christian, so we celebrated Christmas. I attended a uniform-wearing Episcopalian grade school, where I learned bible stories, sang songs in chapel every morning, bagged beans for the needy, learned Latin and a little art history, and was part of a community of wealthy, well educated other children with incredible opportunities and bright futures. I would volunteer with my mom once a week after school at a soup kitchen serving hot meals to the homeless and hungry across town. I loved to imagine their stories, to examine their faces, to have a part in their nourishment. Time at the soup kitchen was such a contrast to my daily life, where I was surrounded by affluent, middle to upper class people. I didn't understand how people could end up at that soup kitchen, could stand to live a life on the streets with their children. I felt confused and guilty about all these contrasts and differences, and strived to make sense of them somehow.

There was not one subject in school that I really excelled in, no sports that I played consistently. Dance was the most constant thread throughout my childhood extracurricular activities, but I failed to consistently remain in class and improve technique or flexibility, as too much formal training bored me. The exciting classes to loud, dramatic, music with bold, contemporary movements tended to be the ones I would sign up for, until something louder, more dramatic, bolder, and more contemporary showed up. I was always shifting, recreating, dancing between various activities.


In high school Dance Company, Jacquie Boomer-Adams, a guest teacher, choreographed a modern dance, and it was in working with her that I first learned that there was such a career as Dance/Movement Therapy. Jacquie, who received her M.A. in dance at UCLA and had experienced dance therapy classes there, symbolized whom I wanted to become. She always brought optimism, joy, and healing into her dance studios, and gracefully created an environment of respect and direct communication. She embodied dance as therapy. The thought of joining my passion of dance with my passion of helping others seemed like the perfect fit.

While in my second year at Arizona State University, I experienced a whole new realm of dance in classes that felt cold, competitive, and superficial, which was devastating at a time when I felt the most lost in my life and most needing to express myself (and be in therapy). The classes were rigid and crowded. I gave up dance. I gave it up because I didn't find the joy in it anymore, I was depressed and confused, pressured to find a career with paperwork and high heels, to be successful, and to begin the rest of my life as soon as possible. Nothing felt right. I didn't know who I was, where I wanted to go, or who to trust or talk to about my confusion. When I stopped dancing, I cut off communication with my body (and mind and soul). It was during this time that I became depressed and experienced infinite solitude. It was the worst year of my life.


Something had to shift or move, everything felt so incredibly dormant, so I planned to study abroad in London, England, for a semester in 2002. I had to submit a resume and would then be placed with an internship, as well as take some courses in British life and history for college credit. In my first two weeks there, I was placed in an internship at Sadler's Wells Theatre, working for Wayne McGregor's Random Dance Company, which I found to be incredibly inspiring and intriguing.






Largely from McGregor's influence, I began to see movement and the body as art, as a way to express and investigate issues of being human. It was quite serendipitous to be so intimately involved with dance again, at a job that seemed to fall into my lap, and every day I was reminded of the joy dance brings me. I began to take classes every night after work at Covent Garden's Pineapple studios, and things in my life amazingly began to shift again, this time on an upswing of art as possibility.


I focused on finishing my B.A. in San Francisco, where I began to gather more pieces about dance therapy from the American Dance Therapy Association (ADTA), and became a student member. Dance/Movement Therapy, as defined by the American Dance Therapy Association, is the "psychotherapeutic use of movement as a process which furthers the emotional, cognitive, physical, and social integration of the individual." Dance Therapy uses the body as a tool for personal expression, and dance therapists work with a variety of populations and various settings, focusing on improving body image, expanding movement capabilities, establishing behavioral patterns and creating copability.


Since making the commitment to become a dance therapist in California, I have encountered arduous tasks, and have started to feel isolated and lost about how to become certified with the ADTA. This blog is in effort to communicate and document my alternate route process towards Dance Therapist Registration (DTR).

Wish me luck!!